


Memories of Being a Soldier

by PureFury



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Afghanistan, Amnesia, Caring Sherlock, Flashbacks, Hospital, Hurt John, John forgets his life with sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, soldier John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PureFury/pseuds/PureFury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has woken up from a coma and thinks that he has just been shot in Afghanistan. He doesn't know that he has been invalided home for well over 2 years now. When he wakes up he sees a tall stranger in his room. Who is this man and can he trust him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a doctor so please don't think any of this gunshot wound/amnesia is 100% accurate X

The sound of beeping pulled the doctor from the comfortable embrace of unconsciousness. He tried to open his eyes but found it impossible. The man's eyelids were heavy. He could see nothing but darkness so he turned to a more reliable sense. His hearing.

The sound of shoes on polished floor confused the man as he attempted to recognise his location. The sounds around him seemed extremely familiar but they seemed to be of little importance as if he heard them everyday. The sound of feet on polished floor and beeping was quickly joined with voices speaking in hushed tones a little distance away. Quickly, John's hearing became sharper and stronger so he could pick out quieter sounds. In the distance there was the sound of a busy road and lots of people talking and milling around. He couldn't tell which one was closer.

John could hear someone approaching him which caused him to tense up (mentally at least. He wasn't sure if his body was obeying the commands he was sending it). The person seem to go around the area where John was and, from the sounds of it, sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. The soldier waited to see if this visitor would speak to him. After a few minutes, John began to relax again. The person hadn't spoken to him and the doctor was beginning to think that nobody was actually there.

He relaxed into the beeping and decided that he should try and sleep. It was just before he drifted when he realised where he was. He had recognised the beeping, trainers on polished floor and voices in the distance. He was in Bart's hospital. But why am I here?

-/\\-/\\-/\\-  
He suddenly woke again. The tendrils of his dream were slowly exiting his mind. It wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare. He had dreamt of being shot while on duty. Which would never happen... would it?

His eyelids felt lighter than before so he immediately snatched them open to peer around. What had happened?

A flashback suddenly flooded John's mind and he saw himself running in the intense Afghanistan heat. The sweat was dripping down his spine and being absorbed into his sandy coloured uniform as he ran. He moved as fast as his legs would carry him. He was running away from someone-No. He was running towards someone. His sturdy boots were slipping on the sand as he pushed his legs to go faster, faster, faster!

He could feel the dry air burning in his lungs with every oxygen starved gulp he took. The doctor hoisted his heavy medical pack onto his left shoulder as he gained distance.

John stopped, breathless, and surveyed the scene in front of him. His eyes searched the sand for who he was looking for. His searching became desperate as his friend was no where to be seen. He took large, ragged breaths of air and continued to pound on even though he couldn't see his final destination. His eyes darted around panicking and he could feel his chest going tight with worry. Where is he?! He must be here!

John was about to throw himself into a run again when he saw it. He froze as he took in what he had just seen. Blood drying on the hot sand like crimson paint and the lifeless body beside it.

A soldier's nightmare.

The army medic launched forward fighting back the stinging in his eyes. He pumped his legs. Faster, faster, faster! He knew it wasn't safe but he didn't care.

He still had hope. He believed that the still body had a chance. The doctor fell to his knees once he was close enough to his unmoving friend. He didn't notice that the blood was soaking into the knees of his uniform. He didn't care as the still warm liquid soaked up his legs spreading like dye does to a cloth.

Tears stung his eyes as he frantically felt for a pulse. Anything to say he was alright. That he would be alright. Anything. John held his fingers to his comrades neck and waited. His eyes darted over the blood soaked body in front of him searching for any movement. A rise and fall of the chest. A blink of an eye. Just anything.

Nothing.

John blinked back the tears as he ripped open his medical kit. He dug deep into the bag not really looking for anything in particular because he had nothing to cure this.

John sat back and pulled his knees to his chest. He let a tear track down his cheek as he stared at his friend.

No. No. No. No. The doctor's breath was coming in short desperate gasps. He looked up to the clear blue sky above him and felt another tear fall down his cheek. This isn't right. This isn't supposed to end like this. Not for him. Not for him. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

John leant his friend's head back and gently pulled open the eyelid. He felt his breath catch in his throat as the usually so alive and sparkling eyes were now staring up at him lifeless and empty. He looked quickly down at his watch 3:21pm- Time of death... Approximately.

John moved closer to his friend and moved his arms by his blood stained sides. He carefully pulled his friend's uniform open and located the bullet wounds. There were two. One in the upper chest and the other directly through the heart. The doctor looked up and into the horizon unable to stand the sight of what had killed his brother-in-arms.

He swallowed despite the lump in his throat and looked back down to his comrade. He pulled some cleaning equipment out of his kit and began to clean around the chest wound. He would put off the fatal heart wound for as long as he could, he couldn't stand it yet. As John cleaned the wound meticulous and professionally he could see an occasional tear falling and landing on his friend's chest.

John suddenly stopped as the sound of soft footfall on shifting sand alerted him to someone else's presence. The small man took a deep steadying breath and closed his eyes. He had no weapon to protect himself and his friend's had been taken after he had been shot.

He had contacted other units before coming out here so they would be on their way but they would be too late. The doctor shifted and stared straight ahead. It wasn't supposed to end this way. He was supposed to retire after a long and successful military career. That is what should happen.

He listened as the sand slipped away under the stranger's weight. He closed his eyes and prepared to be murdered. This wasn't the first time he had faced death and was determined that it wouldn't be the last.

Without any noise proceeding it, the trigger was pulled. The echoing sound of a gun firing hit John first as it bounced around his head. Then the searing pain was next. A deep burning tore itself through John's shoulder. He could feel the muscule being ripped and the bone being cracked. The bullet, which had shattered, then tore its way through the skin on the soldiers back.

John doubled over in pain as the sound of fleeing footsteps retreated swiftly. He lifted a weak hand and held it to his left shoulder to try and halt the blood loss.

John lay on the sand beside his already passed comrade waiting for death to come and claim him. He looked down weakly at his hand, dripping with his blood. The crimson liquid was flowing out at a steady pace between his fingers even though he was putting pressure on the hole. As each drop of blood dripped out of him he could feel the life being drained away.

 

-/\\-/\\-/\\-  
His eyes suddenly snapped open and he dragged a long breath into his desperate lungs. He glanced around the room frantically. His eyes only just focused on something before moving on to the next object. After he had established that everything was safe he let his body relax and the soldier closed his eyes in relief. His breath was still coming in quick gasps when he suddenly realised that he wasn't alone in the room.

His eyes darted over to a man slouching in a plastic hospital chair. The man had dark brown curls and prominent features. He was sat in a creased and crumpled suit(with no tie) with black dress shoes.

This stranger was sleeping all crouched up in the chair. John looked over at him. Who was he? Why is he here? Why would you visit a soldier you don't even know?

John tried to push himself so he was sat up but the shuffling around caused his leg to scream out in pain. John gasped in air as the pain was like a sharp throbbing sensation. The soldier was confused. He was shot in the shoulder not leg. His shoulder was also throbbing. He frowned. I expected it to be worse than this.

Oh my God! He suddenly had a thought, what if they've amputated my arm. John swiftly grabbed his shoulder. A tinge of pain shot out from the area.

He physically sagged with relief when his hand came into contact with the damaged arm.

John flopped back on his uncomfortable pillows and let out a deep breath of air. He was okay. He was alright. He wasn't dead.

The soldier ran a hand through his short hair but frowned in bewilderment when it was longer then he remembered.

John ran his hand over his tired face. He briefly contemplated whether he would be allowed to go back after he had fully recovered since he didn't feel too bad considering he'd been shot.

The army medic tried to swallow but his throat was parched and dry like the Afghanistan desert. He looked over to his beside table where his call button was and pressed it quickly.

A minute later a thin nurse came in dragging her feet. Her face lit up when she saw the visitor sleeping. The woman's eyes then shot over to John and a warm smile blossomed on her ruby red lips. The soldier peered across at the stranger in the chair. What had he done to make the nurse so fed up with him?

"Dr Watson!" She spoke cheerfully.

"Hello." John tried to force the word out of his mouth but the dryness just made the sound of rasping come out.

"Water?" Her blonde curls bounced around as she moved her head enthusiastically.

The short man nodded desperately and the nurse nodded before rushing off to fetch him something to drink.

The man asleep in the chair suddenly began to shift and wake up. John froze, unsure of who this man was. The tall man stretched and released a loud yawn. He turned to look at John, who he obviously expected to see asleep. A smile of relief mixed with joy appeared on his sharp face accentuating his high cheekbones.

Who is this man? What does he want with an injured solider?


	2. Those strange men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has to deal with a policeman and the other stranger. Maybe they have the wrong person?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no doctor so the amnesia will have accidental inaccuracies! Sorry!

John stared at the handsome stranger for what felt like an eternity but only about half a minute actually passed. The injured solider took in everything about this new face-the high cheekbones, dark curls, plump lips and piercing eyes.

The man sat there with a small smirk decorating his lips. He looked back at John with a look of knowledge and ultimate understanding as if he knew every thought that pulsed through the doctor's brain. The soldier studied the man more, noticing the long coat hanging on the chair behind him and the large, dark bags under his eyes.

John began to open his mouth to speak with the man but suddenly the nurse hurried back into the private room carrying a large jug of water. The military doctor already felt relief even though the liquid hadn't yet quenched his parched throat. The nurse ignored the man sat in the plastic chair as she poured the life-bringing liquid into a cup.

She handed the water over to John with a bright smile that reminded him of one of the nurses back on base. They always wore a cheerful grin even when she was experiencing the worst of days. John smiled back in appreciation. The nurse turned to leave without speaking a word to either man.

The soldier raised the cup to his dry lips and let the cool liquid run into his mouth to sooth the painful scratching in his throat. He let out a sigh of satisfaction as he finished the whole cup.

The doctor shifted in his hard hospital bed so he could reach the bedside table. The jerking movement, that he used to pull himself over, pulled on his leg making his hand suddenly spasm and drop the cup as the pain shot through his thigh and hip. He didn't notice the smashed glass because he was completely absorbed in the pain that his leg was giving him.

The visitor looked down at the smashed cup then up at John with slightly raised eyebrows but concern was what covered his face the most. As the tall man watched, he became more concerned with the pain the soldier was going through. Without even uttering a word the stranger pressed the call button which was by the side of John's bed. The doctor would have been confused at the man's confidence to do whatever he wants but he was too focused on the stabbing pain which was radiating out from his leg.

As he moved his arm to clutch at his leg, he moved his left shoulder which kicked off the dull throbbing pain again. The doctor didn't notice the nurse rushing around his bed or the orders that the stranger snapped at her. He was occupied with attempting to stay conscious as his leg became more painful after he tried to take his weight off it.

The nurse quickly put John on morphine to dim the pain. After a few more minutes, the soldier began to feel dozy and relaxed. The pain had receded as the morphine had stormed through his system. He lay his head back on the lumpy pillow and let his eyes drift closed slowly.

-  
A noise suddenly made his eyes burst open. It seems that the doctor had slipped into a soft sleep encouraged by the strong pain relief. The soldier was already alert, his eyes searching the area. The impulse to react to loud noise was drilled into him.

The noise was the door clicking shut with a surprising amount of volume. There was now another man in his room. Like the other, this man was a complete stranger to John. He was looking at the doctor from the end of the hospital bed. The newest visitor moved up so he was standing along side John's bedside.

"Hi," The man said awkwardly. He was older than John but not by much and was a bit taller. "I was going to visit but there were a few issues at the Yard."

John frowned up at the Londoner, "What?"

"I know it's not much of an excuse but it's been really busy." The man rubbed the back of his neck.

"Have I done something wrong?" John was suddenly very aware that he was talking to a member of the police force. He glanced over at the stranger with sharp cheekbones and wondered if he was an officer as well.

"No! You've done nothing. We just been really busy. It's not like I haven't wanted to visit." The officer tried at amend.

"I think you've got the wrong person." John said, confused. Eyes shifting around the room.

"What do you mean? For the case?" The man asked bewildered. "He's already admitted to it. It's all closed up." Confusion plagued every man in the room. 

"What case?" The soldier was beginning to get frustrated as he got more confused.

"The Pitcher Case!" The stranger with dark curls called out as if it were obvious. His hair bounced as he moved his head. 

John's brow furrowed further. The police officer looked over to the skinny man, "Is this some kind of joke, Sherlock?"

The visitor, who was apparently called Sherlock, looked offended at the policeman's accusation.

"I'm as confused as you, Lestrade. Don't blame this on me!" Sherlock hissed.

The soldier watched the exchange in confusion. He had no idea who these men were. Why were they here?

"I'm sorry but can I help you with something?" John asked politely.

Both men looked down at the short man lying in the bed, "John, this isn't funny." Lestrade said, cautiously.

"I don't understand what you want!" The doctor cried. Who are these men?

The man, who was apparently called Lestrade, stood staring down at John while the other man, Sherlock, slowly backed away from the bed.

The soldier looked from one man to the other trying to figure out what was happening.

"Lestrade," Sherlock called from where he had stepped away. The policeman looked up. "I think John may have hit his head harder than we had anticipated."

The military doctor frowned and looked down at his hands on the white blanket. What were they trying to saying?

He hadn't hit his head at all. He'd been shot and he had the bullet wounds to prove it. Where thy trying to imply that he was thick or something?

The tall man pulled his chair to the side of John's bed and sat so he was uncomfortably close. The doctor shifted in his bed under the stranger's intense scrutiny. He looked up into the concerned expressions on the men's faces. The look worried him, was there something he hadn't been told?

"I won't be allowed to go back will I?" John visibly deflated as he realised that the damage to his shoulder and leg would make him unable to return to Afghanistan, where he'd spent nearly 10 years.

The tall stranger took his hand. John was surprised by this sudden act of compassion but was also uncomfortable with the intimacy.

"No, John. I'm afraid you'll have to stay here for now." Sherlock said, solemnly. His head bowed slightly.

The man from Scotland Yard stood in silence as he stared in confusion at the man grasping John's hand.

"Sherlock, can I speak with you outside for a minute?" He asked softly; probably to avoid spooking John.

The taller man sighed and rolled his eyes before he slowly stood to follow the policeman outside the private room. They need to work on their whispering, John thought to himself as he listened to the men's conversation.

"What's wrong with him?" Lestrade hissed loudly.

"Keep your voice down!" Sherlock sneered back but he wasn't much quieter, "I think he might have amnesia."

"Amnesia?!" Lestrade shouted. Sherlock hushed him.

"Yes. I have a feeling that he thinks he has just been returned from Afghanistan." The taller man said slowly.

"So he hasn't met you yet?" The police officer asked, trying to comprehend the situation.

"Well obviously not, Lestrade!" Sherlock hissed.

"What are we going to do?" The man from Scotland Yard whispered ineffectively.

"We'll get him to remember."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Watson experiences the Flat.

John stepped cautiously towards the door. This whole place was unfamiliar and he wasn't 100% certain that it wasn't some kind of evil trap. The dark door was partially open allowing a small slither of light to decorate the floorboards. The doctor crept across the small space outside the door and made sure he was completely silent as he scanned his eyes over the area inside.

He recognised nothing. Everything was messy and unorganised, it was already beginning to annoy the perfectionist in him that was beaten there by the army. With two fingers he pushed the door open and fell flat against the wall so, if anyone were inside the room, they had nothing to shoot at. The doctor felt like cursing when the door squeaked on its hinges.

Great, now anyone and everyone will know I am here! He complained to himself. The door had swung wide open now so the soldier had a clearer view of the whole living room. There were books scattered around the space along with papers littered here and there. Mugs lay on many of the surfaces and a violin sat, pride of place, on one of the armchairs.

The place was dusty and cluttered. John found in increasingly hard to believe that he could possibly live here. The curtains were drawn, forbidding the sun access to the room and what alarmed him most were the Petri dishes and test tubes that were placed carelessly on sofas, window sills, desks and the coffee table. They certainly didn't look safe or even clean.

He glanced carefully around the area before stepping slowly over the threshold. He didn't trust this place. It felt so wrong. It had the same atmosphere of an apartment were the owner had died several weeks before leaving everything as it was. A thin layer of dust had begun to settle on the furniture and John immediately felt extremely uneasy.

He stepped quietly further into the room and continued to survey the space. A long robe lay partly slipping off the sofa like the owner had discarded it in a hurry.

The soldier froze when his eyes met the empty eye sockets of a grinning skull. He swallowed tensely and stepped away from the morbid object.

He looked over his bad shoulder into what was obviously supposed to be a kitchen. Plates were stacked up by the sink in a jumbled queue to be cleaned. More mugs lined the counters and there was an eerie silence save from the quite humming from the fridge and cars passing every now and again.

John frowned at the mess upon the kitchen table. Notes were pinned down with board pins and pencils were placed lazily around the note pads. Coffee and, what looked like, acid stains converted the table from a place for dining into a lab desk. A Bunsen burner sat in the middle of the table with test tubes in their racks around the outside like people gathering around a street performer.

John peered down a dark corridor but it felt too closed off to be any safe and his soldier instincts were telling him to leg it. He backed away swiftly and escaped the disorganisation which was the kitchen.

He kept walking backwards, keeping his eyes on the part of the flat that he trusted the least, the dark corridor. The soldier continued to walk backwards until the back of his thighs made contact with the arm of his chair. He jerked around just in time to see a large Celtic tile, which had been balancing precariously on the arm, fall towards the floor. The loud crash made the injured solider jump out of his skin.

Sherlock was stood at the door of 221 Baker Street. He was talking, pointlessly in his opinion, to Lestrade about what would happen with the case. The smash from the flat caused him to rapidly spin around. His eyes searched the area for his amnesiac friend. He frowned when he realised that he hadn't heard John climbing the stairs.

The detective shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He darted through the open door and into the flat. His eyes raked the area in search for John. He physically tensed up when he saw the man.

The blond doctor was huddled into a corner which he had obviously backed into. He was shaking and the soldier's eyes shifted about quickly. It was clear that he wasn't here but was, instead, on the dry sand of Afghanistan. The short man was gasping in short breaths and his chest was rising and falling quickly. Sherlock stepped closer in an attempt to help him. At the sound of Sherlock's footsteps, John's eyes snapped over to where the man was. The usually warm and bright eyes had frozen over into a dull and panicked stricken expression. Tears were gliding easily down the soldier's cheek as he relived a moment of his past.

The doctor suddenly screamed out and clutched at his shoulder. His face distorted into a mask of pain as he released another sharp cry. Sherlock swallowed feeling helpless and lost. The detective looked around wildly for anything that could help the situation. His eyes glanced over the many mugs on the surfaces and a thought suddenly snapped in his head. He had found a way to help John and maybe even regain a memory or two.

Two minutes later, (which was two minutes too long, if you ask the detective) the sociopath stepped back into the living area with a steaming mug. The smell of tea had filled the kitchen and was beginning to spread through the rest of the flat. It was beginning to smell like home again.

Sherlock moved cautiously forward towards the other man. John had his knees embraced tightly by his still slightly shaking arms. His face was hidden behind his knees but Sherlock could hear the sobs that racked through the man's body.

He approached slowly, not wanting to alarm the soldier. He lowered himself onto his knees by the man. The cup of tea was placed gently on the floorboards next to the detective.

Sherlock moved out a hand to softly pat John's arm but the doctor sensed it coming and jerked back further against the wall. Sherlock sighed, this was going to be harder than he had originally thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets suspicious but Sherlock is just concerned.

The soldier glanced down at the chinese in front of him. His stomach twisted after only two mouthfuls. The blond man pushed the plastic tub away from him on the lab-desk which was supposed to be a table. The genius, who was sat opposite John, frowned and pushed the half uneaten food back towards his flat mate. John looked away from the food and instead glared at the NHS cane that was leaning against the table.

"You have to eat." Sherlock said sternly. As a result of the order, John glared down at the food before lifting his eyes to the part-stranger.

"It's obvious that YOU don't so why should I?" The soldier asked defiantly. He was suddenly glad of his medical knowledge. It was obvious that the man didn't eat properly.

Sherlock tried to hold back a groan before he scooped a fork of food into his own mouth. The doctor smirked satisfied and the detective scowled.

"Now you." Sherlock commanded, using his fork to gesture at the cooling dinner. 

"Actually, I don't feel like it." The blond man pushed himself away from the table, grabbed his cane and glanced around the kitchen for the bin. Triumph rose in his eyes as he found the it. The doctor quickly moved over and tapped the bottom of his food container so the contents fell into the bin.

He moved back over to the table but didn't sit down instead he glanced around the room. A frowning Sherlock watched him carefully. 

"Ummm..." The soldier muttered. He took a hesitant step towards the corridor but stopped and looked over at the man he had met for the first time yesterday- in his mind anyway. "Wh-where is it that I sleep?" He asked quietly, embarrassed that he didn't know. He leant heavily on his stick.

Sherlock glanced quickly down the corridor that lead to their bedroom. The the peered up at the man who thought of him as a stranger.

"There is a room upstairs." The detective watched the doctor carefully. He hoped that maybe something up their might spark a memory. "That is where you slept."

The blond man nodded firmly before marching down the corridor. Sherlock watched in confusion until he realised that the man was looking for the staircase.

"Not that way." Sherlock called out and looked down at his hands that were sat on the table. He didn't look up as John walked past but he listened very carefully to every step until they had reached inside of John's old bedroom. He sighed and shuffled through to his own bedroom. He was determined that the doctor would eat but he just needed time. He was also determined that the soldier would remember their life after John's service in the army.

The soldier pushed the door open gently and stepped inside. The room was small but relatively neat in comparison to the other rooms of the flat. The military doctor glanced around curiously. Something didn't feel right about the room. It felt cold and unlived in. The hairs on John's arms rose as the dust he had just stirred rose up into the air. The unfamiliar itching sensation at the back of his throat appeared when he inhaled a large quantity of dust filled air.

The short man glanced around the room, curious to see what he had lived in. He winced as a sharp stabbing sensation began in his leg. The doctor hobbled to the neatly made bed and sat on the edge in an attempt to take the pressure off his leg. He rubbed his leg roughly and the jerking movement caused a dull throbbing to begin in his damaged shoulder.

He groaned as the pain worsened. He had lived in this pain for then last two years? It didn't seem right. The soldier leant his cane against the wall and lay back on his bed. He gently placed his head on the cool pillow and closed his eyes.

He already missed it. He could feel his body craving it. He needs it. The adrenaline. The doctor lived off the adrenaline and he was missing it. How did he survive like this everyday?

He pulled himself up and shuffled to the drawers in a search for some pyjamas. It took him a while but eventually he found something to wear although, it concerned him that there was only a few items of clothing.

It felt wrong. It felt like he didn't belong here. This can't be right, the soldier thought. John glanced down at the neatly folded pyjamas and suspicion bubbled up in his mind. They were cold and crisp like they had been lying at the bottom of this drawer for years.

The soldier placed the clothes down on the bed that was apparently his and picked his cane up quietly. He didn't doubt that he had amnesia but what he was suspicious of was this place. This room felt cold and unlived in. It was like the man down stairs was taking the chance and kidnapping him while it would be easy.

The doctor pushed himself up from the bed and winced as his leg complained. He sucked in air as the bed creaked when he moved his weight off it. Silently, the soldier switched to stealth mode and began to creep out of the room, only stopping to pick up his wallet and phone.

John shuffled, with minimal noise, towards the front door of the house. He could hear Sherlock's violin singing out a sorrowful lullaby in the sociopath's room. The blond man tip-toed further until he was standing at the top of the stairs. He knew that some of them squeaked but he didn't know which ones.

He pulled in a deep breath and stepped down gently. It didn't make a sound and John released a breath that he hadn't realised that he had been holding. The short man picked up the pace slightly and moved onto the next step. The first few were fine and silent but then he moved onto one about halfway down, it cried out in a loud squeak as he applied weight. The man became motionless when the song from inside the flat suddenly stopped.

John swallowed and listened for movement from inside the flat. A few seconds later, the music continued but this time it was more timid and quiet. Sherlock was obviously more alert.

The doctor quickly hurried down the last few steps and was out of the door in seconds. He gently pulled the door closed so that the gentle click was almost inaudible. John looked up at the dark building as he limped away quickly.

His leg began to protest but he wouldn't dare wait around for a cab. He needed to get away from this unfamiliar house and to somewhere he knew.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the cold and the dark. Alone is all he has. Alone protects him.

As John walked along the street the lampposts above him flickered on, casting light onto the pavements below.

The natural light had long since left the sky leaving behind the dark royal blue of night. The wind whipped through the city making everything it touched shiver from the chill. One of the things it touched was the limping doctor.

John felt a chill fall down his spine as the cold air danced around his neck. The blond man tried to retreat into his jumper but the cold still reached him. He pulled at the sleeves of a oatmeal cream jumper which he had been given by the stranger back at Baker Street.

Sherlock had studied him hopefully while John pulled his head through the jumper. He was hoping that an item with so much sentimental meaning would cause a memory to bloom. Unfortunately, it didn't and even though John didn't understand why Sherlock's face fell as he put on the jumper, he knew that the man was upset.

The doctor felt exhausted from the day(and flashback) and just wanted to sleep but he didn't like that flat, something was off with it. It didn't feel like somewhere he would call home.

The short man shuffled along the roads and streets with no real destination. Everything had changed since he was last in London. Shops had disappeared, roads changed, new buildings had been built. It seemed like he was wondering through a new and unfamiliar city and even though he didn't want to admit it, it scared him slightly.

- **Sherlock** -

After half an hour, Sherlock pulled the bow across the strings of his violin one more time before he placed the instrument down gently on his bed. He ruffled his dark curls before stepping out of his bedroom. The man needed to check on his doctor. He glided effortlessly through the flat and towards the stairs that led to John's old room. He leapt up the stairs, taking them 2 at a time.

The bedroom door was shut so Sherlock, remembering that his friend didn't know his mannerisms, knocked lightly on the cold wood. He waited a few seconds before knocking again, only louder. Suspicion flared inside him.

"John?" The man called out while opening the door slowly. He didn't want to shock the ill doctor.

He took a large and determined stride into the dark room. The sociopath could feel bubbles churning in his stomach. This wasn't right. Something was wrong.

He stepped further into the room and glanced down at the still neatly made bed. He swallowed as John was nowhere to be seen.

The detective stepped backwards towards the door while keeping his eyes on the bed. He stumbled a few times but managed to reach the door without harm.

_He's gone?Why is he gone? Where is he gone? How could he go?_

- **John** -

The soldier continued to march determinedly into the wind. He reached the entrance to a small park and shuffled through the gates. Parks meant benches and benches meant sitting down. That was enough to convince the short man to enter.

He hobbled further into the park until he came across an old wooden bench. The reason he had entered the green space in the first place. The soldier lowered himself gently onto the damp wood. He rested his cane against the seat of the bench and closed his eyes. He hadn't yet grown accustomed to the pain from his leg and shoulder.

For the first time since he had woken up in the hospital it finally dawned on him that we wouldn't be returning to Afghanistan. He closed his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from the onslaught on images that were battering his mind. Despite what you might expect, these images were not of war, dying comrades or bullets tearing apart skin and muscle. It was of a dull and mundane civilian life. The images of working, cleaning and domestics made the air get stuck in his throat as he breathed in deeply.

He needed it. The adrenaline. He craved the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins making everything quick and sharp. The needed the adrenaline that he couldn't have anymore. How had he survived before this amnesia? How did he get his fix? So far nothing had explained that to him.

He slowly opened his eyes again. He glared down at the cane with a ferocious scowl. In a sudden burst of old concealed anger the doctor grabbed the cane and threw it. There was a lot of force behind the throw so the cane travelled a long away down the dark footpath in the park. It landed with a loud clatter and John was sure that it would be at least dented if not broken beyond repair.

The blond man squeezed his eyes shut and forced his hands into fists. In his mind, he hadn't visited any therapists so any advice on anger management was forgotten. Minutes passed in a blur as the anger flowed through his body.

The doctor panted as the anger slowly faded from his glared at the NHS cane until be had no energy to be angry with. The doctor stood and winced as pain shot through his leg. He struggled forward and cursed himself for throwing it an unrealistic distance away. He stepped forward and his leg nearly buckled under his weight. The pain radiated outwards causing the soldier to curse violently. It took him twice as long as it should have to reach the damaged cane.

At this very moment, John hated himself. Why had this happened to him? The doctor peered off into the distance in an attempt to distract himself from the truth and the throbbing pain.

The blond haired man could see a faint sign in the distance, it read:

**Hotel -**

**Reasonable price and vacancies.**

John knew that this was his best bet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John visits a nice looking Hotel but receives a bit of a surprise.

By the time he had reached the hotel, his leg was driving him crazy. He had come close to falling over many times and, to top it all off, his shoulder was beginning to throb like hell. Luckily for him, his cane hadn't been completely damaged so he could lean on it slightly.

The hotel was small and looked more like a B+B but John continued on towards the door. The building looked similar to most town houses in London except it had a large billboard attached to the fence offering their services as a hotel. The door was painted a dark green and looked freshly painted. Welcome, was written in gold paint on the door underneath the knocker. Above the door was a window and on the glass it had written:

Hotel Ealdor

John supposed that this was the name of the hotel.

John hesitantly knocked against the newly painted wood. He waited and after a few seconds of awkwardly gazing around the front garden he heard someone rushing towards the door. The soldier tried to put a smile on his face but he knew it looked forced and fake. The pain he was in stopped any hope of the smile being real and pleasant.

The door was suddenly wrenched open to reveal a young man with blond, messy hair. The hotel owner was already smiling but the smile grew when he noticed that it was John. His hair was short but it was still ruffled. The man wore skin-tight jeans and a shirt that John could only describe as trendy. The shirt had one of those little symbols on one side of the chest which meant that you have to spend an awful lot to purchase it.

The owner had a friendly face which was actually quite attractive and he obviously worked out. Since when has he noticed all that about men?!

The owner flicked his eyes over the soldier's body and a frown replaced the wide smile.

"John Watson! Why have you lost so much weight?!" The man cried. He obviously didn't know about the time the doctor had just spent in hospital.

"Ummm...I" John wasn't sure what he was about to say but he was interrupted anyway.

"No! No excuses!" The man waved a hand up in an action which would be described as flamboyant. "Come on in! I'll make you something to eat. Ooh! I'll go wake Colin. He'd like to say hello!" The blond man bounded off down a corridor. John's eyes darted down to his watch. It was too late for impromptu tea parties, in the soldier's opinion anyway. 

"Make yourself at home! Go through to the kitchen!" The voice of the stranger called from down the corridor.

John quickly scanned the area around him in search of a door or archway which would lead him through to the kitchen. There was a door next to him in the foyer so he stepped towards it and pushed it gently open. The door moved with a quiet squeak. John poked his head inside and his eyes were assaulted by a bright lime-green colour scheme. The doctor had wondered into what looked like a lounge area. There were comfortable looking black sofas along the wall with lime green cushions decorating them. It all seemed very modern and carefully designed.

John backed away from the room and tried another door. It took him three attempts to find the kitchen which was down a different corridor to the one that the blond owner went down.

The kitchen was large and was mostly black marble. It was very neat and minimalistic. In the corner was a professional style oven which was massive and took up loads of space. In the middle of the kitchen was an island with bar stools placed around it. John stepped forward hesitantly. It felt like he was snooping around somebody's house.

The soldier had trouble clambering up onto the bar stool because of the pain in his bad leg. It took him a good few minutes to finally sit on top. The pain in his leg didn't cease because he was constantly using it to keep his balance.

The doctor fiddled with the cane awkwardly as he waited for the men to return. The doctor glanced around the large room curiously and briefly wondered if his enthusiastic welcome would have woken up any other guests.

The sound of footsteps coming towards the kitchen made him stop his inspection of the room and look up to the doorway. A tall lanky stranger burst through the door enthusiastically with a genuine warm smile on his face. The new stranger looked a couple of years younger than the man who'd opened the door.

He had black hair which was medium-short and messy from where he had been sleeping. The stranger looked slightly like the high cheekboned Sherlock Holmes who was at Baker Street. Similar to Sherlock, the man in the doorway was also tall, over 6 foot.

"John!" The man who must be Colin cried. John, once again, wondered about any paying customers. "Bradley said you were here! No Sherlock?"

"No, not today." John said awkwardly, still fiddling with his cane. These men obviously knew him from somewhere. Act normal, Act normal, Act normal, Whirled around the soldier's head like a mantra. The fact that everyone knew him was beginning to get annoying. Who are these people?!

"Great of you to visit anyway!" Colin beamed while striding over to one of the bar stools opposite John and sliding on gracefully.

The man who had answered the door, Bradley, opened the fridge and began pulling out eggs and other ingredients. It looks like he wasn't joking when he said that he would make something for him to eat.

"So, what you doing up here at this time of night?" Colin asked with concern etched into every line in his face.

John avoided eye contact by looking down to the floor, "I need a room." He mumbled. I need to act like I'm fine. No amnesia or they'll call Mr Holmes.

"Why?!" Bradley, the blonde man, asked in shock.

"Have you and Sherlock had a domestic?" Colin said softly.

"What?! No!" John was confused. Why would Sherlock Holmes and I have a domestic?!

"Don't worry! You don't have to talk about it with us." Colin soothed the soldier. Bradley continued to crack eggs and mix in ingredients while shaking his head slowly in disbelief . "So how are you?"

"I'm... Good. Look, I don't want to seem rude but can I just have a room. I'm shattered." John noticed that his voice took on a begging quality. It made him frown.

"Yes, of course! Sorry!" Colin apologised while rushing over to a locked key box on the wall by the door.

"Ah great," The soldier smiled in relief. "Thank you so much, Bradley." The doctor said to Colin.

Bradley stopped mixing the egg and faced John with a frown. Colin also turned to the soldier in bewilderment.

"I'm not Bradley. I'm Colin." Colin said while sharing a worried look with his partner.

John swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies for anyone who recognises the new characters! ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape to Tesco!

There was a pause as John looked from Colin to Bradley. Everyone had frozen and all eyes were on the doctor as they waited for an explanation.

"Yes, sorry." The soldier said while shaking his head. "I think I'm just so tired." John tried to pull a smile onto his face but it was obviously forced and full of no emotion.

"Of course," Colin said and waved a hand towards the corridor. "This way."

Bradley stayed cooking the food while the man who looked a little like Sherlock led him though to a room. Colin, Colin, Colin, John muttered to himself. I can't mess up like that again.

Colin led the doctor through to a painted white door with 6 written on it in the gold paint that seemed to be everywhere. The part-stranger pulled out the key and slotted it into the door. He pushed the door open effortlessly and walked inside.

"There's your bed, bathroom, tea and... I think that's it. If you need anything don't hesitate to find me or Bradley." The man watched John carefully as he rattled out the same welcome he gave to all the guests. He frowned as the doctor seemed genuinely interested with where everything was even though this room wasn't new to him.

John thanked him and shut the door after the owner had left. He rubbed a hand over his face and prayed that his act was good enough. He knew that it wasn't.

Leaning heavily on his cane, the soldier shuffled across the room and sat on the large double bed. He allowed his eyes to glance around the room. It was very minimalist, just like the kitchen, with mostly creams and whites decorating the room. The only flare of colour came from the deep red cushions that sat on the arm chair in the corner and on the bed. The room seemed familiar. As if he had been here once before but in a dream where details shift and nothing stays the same. The room was warm and cosy. It made the doctor want to smile as if it stirred happy memories but John couldn't reach them, like they lay beneath a thin film. The short man shook his head and blinked rapidly. That was strange. Nothing like that has happened before. Maybe this was some sort of break through? 

He ran a weary hand over the soft blanket that lay over the bed and suddenly realised how tired he actually was. He wriggled out of the oatmeal jumper and hobbled through to the bathroom. He stared down at the sink before remembering that he hadn't brought anything. John released a great sigh and shuffled through to the bedroom.

The doctor slipped his head into his jumper and pulled out his wallet. There wasn't much money in there but enough to by a toothbrush and some shower gel. He pushed the wallet into his pocket and marched over to the door.

He poked his head out first to see if there was anyone prowling the corridor. The coast was clear so he made a break for the door in stealth mode. The multiple of locks across the door slowed his exit but he could hear voices in the kitchen so had to keep hurrying on.

He pulled across the last lock and wrenched the door open. He darted outside and pulled the door shut gently behind him. The soft click echoed through the quiet hotel.

John released a breath of air that he hadn't realised he had been holding. He was a guest so technically he should be allowed to leave whenever he wanted but yet it still felt like a prison break.

The soldier was outside so rushed away from the hotel. It was incredibly dark and the street lamps were doing a pathetic job of lighting the way. John headed towards where Tescos used to be in the hope that it hadn't moved or closed down. He stumbled away quickly, glancing over his shoulder as he went.

-

"I'm not sure." Colin bit his bottom lip in worry.

"Well, something was wrong." The blond man answered firmly.

"He was different. Something is definitely wrong." Colin agreed with his partner.

"I think we should call Sherlock." Bradley said while throwing away the food he had been cooking. He guessed that John would be getting ready to sleep so bringing him food would just be a disturbance.

"But if they've had an argument then they won't want us getting involved." Colin tried to reason. The frown lines were etched deep into his forehead. 

There was silence for a moment as both men considered what had happened in their kitchen.

"I'm calling Sherlock. Something is seriously wrong." Bradley said decisively. He moved over to the phone that was hanging by the fridge. He picked it up and was about to type in the familiar number when the click of the front door closing caused him to look up towards the corridor that led to the front door.

Colin and Bradley shared a look. This isn't good.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes it back to the hotel to find a familiar face.

The doctor grunted in frustration as the plastic Tescos bag hit against his leg in the rhythm of his steps. He was almost back at the hotel and his leg was beginning to throb like it never had before. The pain made him grind his teeth and clench onto the handle of his cane like a vice.

Large, fat raindrops fell from the heavens and landed on the oatmeal jumper making it sodden and heavy. The doctor groaned and glared up at the royal blue sky. He was getting cold and needed to get back soon.

He marched on forward, mustering all his determination. The doctor was on the hotel road and staggered forward, closer to rest. He reached the hotel entrance and gently twisted the door handle to let himself in. Once inside, he noticed that all the voices that were previously talking in the kitchen had stopped and all lights were off in the hotel. He turned and pulled all the locks back across the door before shuffling down the corridor and towards the room he had been given.

He pulled the key out of his trouser pocket and inserted it into the lock. With a gentle click the door unlocked to grant the doctor entry. He pushed open the door and stepped inside the dark room. He sighed and began to pull his wet jumper off as he limped further into the room. He threw the jumper onto the bed before reaching behind to the wall to feel for a light switch.

His cold fingers came in contact with the plastic of the switch so his fingers followed the plastic to the button part of the switch. He clicked it down and the room was suddenly flooded with light. He blinked against the sudden burning in his eyes as John tried to look around.

The room became clear and John swallowed. He had an unexpected visitor. The tall man was sat in the armchair which was placed in the corner of the room. His dark curls were ruffled where his fingers had combed through it so many times in panic. He still wore his usual Belstaff coat but his dark blue scarf had been removed from his pale neck and was folded over the arm of the chair neatly. John's visitor had his hands steepled under his chin in a prayer like position and was staring intensely at the cream carpet. His glaze was so focused that you'd expect flames to ignite from where he was looking. John briefly hoped that maybe Sherlock hadn't noticed him there, since he hadn't reacted to the soldier's entry.

Trying to keep large movement to a minimum, the doctor leant over to grasp the sleeve of the abandoned oatmeal jumper. He caught it in his fingers on the thick material and backed towards the door.

The sociopath's head suddenly shot up and his intense glare was fixed on the soldier. John froze and stared back like a deer in the headlights. They stared at each other for a moment and John considered continuing with his escape but Sherlock's silky baritone stopped the plan.

"John." His tone was laced with what sounded like regret.

The doctor was silent as he waited for the consulting detective to continue.

"John," The man's voice was thick with emotion. "Why is it us? Why can't this be someone else? Anyone else."

John remained quiet. He knew running would be useless with his limp. Sherlock would catch up with him without even trying.

"John. Please come home." The doctor could tell that Sherlock's voice was close to cracking under the weight of the emotion. He'd never expected this type of emotion from the man. "I need you at home."

John shook his head slowly. For all he knew, this Sherlock Holmes could be a big lie. It might be a trap.

The genius pushed himself to his feet and took a single step towards John. The doctor panicked slightly and moved backwards towards the door by one step.

"John. Please remember." Sherlock reached out a hand to his doctor. "J-J-Just please remember."

The detective's voice shook and his eyes welled up with tears. He bit his bottom lip to try and contain the overwhelming emotion but he left his arm stretched out in reach for his doctor, "John. Anything. Anything you want and I'll give it to you. Just come home."

A single tear glided down the man's sharp cheekbone and down his cheek as he begged the shorter man to return with him. He tried to blink away the tears with very little success. He wiped an escaped tear way, violently.

"You don't understand. I need you and you need me. We belong together, you and I. We're meant to be. You said so yourself!" Sherlock couldn't stop another tear rolling down from his eye.

John spoke up for the first time, "If you're so important to me then why can't I remember you?!" He tapped his temple viciously as if trying to rewaken the memories, "Why can't I?!"

Sherlock shook his head slowly mirroring John's earlier action. Another tear fell from his eye but this time he didn't bother brushing it away, "I don't know." He muttered almost silently. "I don't know."

"It's in here!" The doctor tapped the side of his forehead again violently, "I can't feel it. It's like you were there once. In a dream or something. It's like I should know you!" He cried. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Sherlock opened his mouth but nothing came out. He stuttered.

"Who. Are. You?" John said slowly with a slight threat tinting his words.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes. I'm a Consulting Detective and I-" He was interrupted.

"To me! Who are you to me?" The creases in his brow deepened in concern. His chest heaved as he breathed. The anger and frustration that had been building up was getting ready to burst.

Sherlock ran his hand over his face, "John, I'm your friend."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" The soldier hissed.

Sherlock's face fell as John's words sunk in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last chapter. Unfortunately, this fic couldn't be too long as I have a tonne of multichapter stories on the way!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock helps John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Epilogue next week!

"Who. Are. You?!" John accentuated every word, menacingly. The soldier pulled at his short blond hair, "And what do you want with me?"

Sherlock looked over at John and the tears continued to pour down his cheeks. "With you? What do I want with you? John Watson, to me, you mean the world. You are the burning stars and the deepest depths of the ocean. You are always there. A constant in my ever changing world. Loyal, loving and so, so important to me." Sherlock took a step forward. Sherlock watched the other man carefully, just in case he moved further away. To the detective's relief, he stayed where he was.

John tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling above him in an attempt to stop the tears from cascading down his face, "I can't remember you." His voice cracked and his desperation became clear to the sociopath. The doctor was struggling to live in this world that was apparently his and it was beginning to show.

Sherlock stepped further forward, wishing he could comfort his partner in distress. He reached out further to John and this time the soldier didn't retreat. Slight hope dared to bloom in the detective's chest.

"I know." Sherlock soothed.

"I want to remember you. Why can't I?" John whispered. His strong exterior shell was breaking down and he didn't care; apparently he wasn't a strong soldier anymore. 

"It's not your fault. It's not your fault." The detective chanted quietly to the struggling doctor.

"I don't remember you." The blond man muttered distantly while racking his brain.

"John, you may never remember." Sherlock's voice cracked again as he voiced his deepest fear.

The soldier shook his head and ran his fingers through his short hair. His eyes glanced around the room quickly as he searched for memories. He pulled at the short hairs as he got increasingly frustrated.

"I have to remember!" The ill soldier cried. "I can't not remember!"

Sherlock held out his arms and slowly moved closer to the shaking doctor. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man and rested his chin on top of the doctor's hair. He tightened his grasp on his partner as he sobbed into Sherlock's Belstaff. Sherlock tried to blink away his tears but more quickly replaced them. The soldier shook in the embrace as the pressure finally collapsed on top of him.

Sherlock didn't pull away as he relished in the opportunity to finally touch John again. He rubbed his chin on John's hair as he whispered soothing words of encouragement. The genius patted John's arm comfortingly as they hugged.

"You don't think I'll ever remember?" John muttered into Sherlock's shoulder.

"I didn't say that..." The detective searched his mind palace for something to say. Nothing of any use came forward. He struggled to scrape together something of any use. "I... Really hope that you do but... The doctors... They did warn me about the... Possibility of this being permanent."

John pulled his head out from under Sherlock's chin and gazed up into his intelligent eyes, "You were there? While I was in hospital?" The soldier asked curiously.

Sherlock nodded and stared back at his short companion. John's brow creased as the sociopath's response sunk in.

"The whole week?" The doctor asked, sceptically.

Sherlock nodded again but didn't add any words. He didn't need to add any words. John broke eye contact and glanced down at the floor.

"Me and you..." There was a silence. "Are we...?" The soldier let his words die on his tongue as he restored the eye contact with the genius.

Sherlock swallowed and licked his plump lips quickly. This could either make or break what he just built up here, "Together? Yes." The detective mumbled softly as if he didn't want to scare John.

"As in..." The blond man left a space for Sherlock to fill in; too scared to voice it himself.

"Partners, boyfriends, lovers, significant others. Whatever you want to label it." Sherlock said cautiously. He watched his partner carefully as the information was processed.

"...So, in the 2 years I've been home I turned gay." John struggled to understand.

"Well, you've always slightly suspected it but always denied it." Sherlock said quickly. John began to pull out of the embrace but the genius tighten his grip minutely to stop his escaping partner.

"I'm not sure." He muttered and began to pull away again.

"Please," Sherlock begged. "Let me show you."

The detective lowered his lips until they were centimetres way from John's. He stopped to see if the doctor would object to his advance. When he was met with nothing but harsh breathing Sherlock pushed his lips closer until they met with John's.

The familiarity was comforting to the detective but he could tell that John was less confident. In the doctor's amnesia addled mind, this was his first kiss with Sherlock so was slightly unsure of what to expect of it.

The detective took the lead and gently guided John into their usual technique and style. After a moment, the shorter man's clumsiness and awkwardness was gone and he began to actually kiss back. His confidence grew as the kiss began to get increasingly familiar. Sherlock deepened the kiss and his fingers naturally slipped up to grip John's already ruffled blond hair.

The men's breathing began to become ragged and their skin began to get heated. Sherlock pulled back and their lips parted. The genius grinned down at his partner mischievously. John was less confident but the familiarity had given him a slight boost so he smiled back shyly.

"You'll remember." Sherlock ran his fingertips gently down the soldier's cheek.

"How do you know?" The doctor asked and his eyes suddenly looked uncertain again.

The sociopath leant down and pushed their foreheads together to stare into his partner's deep and emotion filled eyes. The corner of John's mouth quirked into a small smile.

"Because, together, we'll make you remember."


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks later

2 weeks later.

John stared down at the mug that was held firmly between his fingers. He blinked down at the brownish water that he had just created and a small smile bloomed on his lips. It quickly grew and stretched until it was a goofy grin. He placed the mug down gently on the kitchen worktop and quickly rushed down the corridor leading to Sherlock's room. 

Over the last week or so, with Sherlock's help, small memories had leaked back to him in his sleep or while doing activities. The doctors said that this would be the likelihood. 

He jogged past the bathroom and burst into the detective's room.

The sociopath was facing away from the door so he looked over his shoulder to see what the palaver was about. He grunted when he saw it was his flatmate and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He pushed his face into the pillow in an attempt to shield his eyes from the light coming from the corridor. He groaned again as John didn't close the door. He waited in silence to see why the doctor had disrupted his sleeping.

"Sherlock." John said slowly and stepped further inside the room.

The detective rolled onto his back and looked across the room at his flatmate. He wrenched open his eyes further and peered up at the older man but still didn't offer any words. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

John momentarily glanced down at the floor as if he were deciding something before padding over to Sherlock's bed. He immediately climbed on and crawled over to the detective. The genius frowned as John had still been sleeping in his old room.

The doctor pulled his leg over the hips of the blanket covered sociopath so he was straddling him. Sherlock pushed himself onto his elbows in confusion. John took the opportunity to claim the detective's lips in his. Sherlock let out a surprised moan but quickly melted into John's kiss. The genius ran his hands up the doctor's back and onto his shoulders. The detective immediately fell back, pulling John with him. They pulled their lips apart and chuckled.

Already missing the contact, Sherlock leant his head up to take John's lips in his. John moaned, satisfied, and pulled his fingers through the detective's dark curls. He tugged gently at the hair on the side of the sociopath's head causing a deep rumbling groan to escape the younger man's throat.

"John," The sociopath moaned into his partner's mouth. This made John tug at the taller man's hair even harder.

Sherlock moved his hands up and down the doctor's back as they kissed until John pulled back breathless. The detective had forgotten how much he had missed his doctor. As John and Sherlock panted, a smile spread on both of their faces. They both knew what this meant.

"You remember." The genius stated between breaths.

A larger smile was the only answer the detective was given before John pushed their lips together once more.

Between sloppy kissed Sherlock muttered, "God. I've. Missed. You. So. Much."

John just continued kissing his partner and humming in agreement. The genius could feel the soldier's smile against his lips. This was how it's meant to be.

From that moment on, the detective and soldier then never looked back. They had lost each other once and never would again. They continued on together, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to everyone for reading! Sorry this one is short but it was just a quick writing practice while I planned my next multichapter!

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk about Memories of Being a Soldier or Fanfiction in general then you can email me at pure_fury@yahoo.com


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